


The Dying of the Light

by carlynroth



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Allegory, Climate Change, Death, Drama, End of the World, Episode: s05e25 The Inner Light, F/M, Love, Meaning of Life, Star Trek: TNG, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 07:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13519380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carlynroth/pseuds/carlynroth
Summary: I can still remember Kathryn’s life like it was my own, but I must admit that I wonder if she was ever real. After five years of being Kamin — living in the house where I grew up, seeing the clear grey eyes of my father who loves me, and connecting with people who know me better than I know myself — I have finally begun to think that this might be my real life. Perhaps the people here are right; perhaps I did lose my mind when I lost the man I loved.





	1. Teaser: Do Not Go Gentle

**Author's Note:**

> This is my round two entry for the 2017-2018 J/C Cutthroat Fanfiction contest.
> 
> I’d like to thank the Academy… oh, wait, wrong speech. Ah, here it is. Thanks so much to Cheile for giving this such a quick, last-minute read-over. Thanks also to the ever-patient Talsi for managing this contest. I hope this story was worth the wait.
> 
> Beyond the prompt of “Voyager/the crew encounters someone or something ancient,” my muse has been this: What if TNG’s episode “The Inner Light” had been a Voyager installment, instead? This has also been heavily influenced by Dylan Thomas’ timeless poem, “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night.”

_“Do not go gentle into that good night._  
_Old age should burn and rave at close of day._  
_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

_-Dylan Thomas_

* * *

There is a memory I hold to with such ferocity, Daddy swears I could strangle the gods themselves in my grip. “I have no gods,” I say, and he mutters prayers under his breath as he walks away. He only wants to keep me safe, and I can’t blame him for being afraid.

Here, everybody is afraid.

The memory, Daddy insists, is nothing but a fabrication of my mind—a fantasy to combat the barbaric brainwashing techniques used on me. This is what the doctors tell him, and he never questions their diagnosis.

They believe I’m crazy.

For months after I woke up here, no one would tell me what happened. They said it was to protect me from being re-traumatized, but I know better. Truth is so often concealed in silence and fear.

Yet, truth has a way of coming out... and so it did.

They say Eline and I lived in the city. One night, peace officers came into our house, dragged us from our bed, beat us nearly to death, and black-bagged us for crimes against the state. Eline was taken to prison for propagating forbidden research. I was taken to a government re-education center, and I became a test subject for mental reprogramming techniques.

Having lived my whole life in the same village as Eline, the only way to purge every memory of him was to erase my identity and replace it with a new one. Somehow, I resisted the process. Although I have lost—perhaps forever—any memory of the man who was my husband, I did not latch onto the identity they attempted to thrust upon me. Instead, I escaped into a fantasy fit for novelization; I became Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship _Voyager_. Since then, I have spent the past five years with my eye at the lens of a telescope looking for any indication of where I am or what happened to my ship and her crew.

Regrettably, I have no answers.

I can still remember Kathryn’s life like it was my own, but I must admit that I wonder if she was ever real. After five years of being Kamin—living in the house where I grew up, seeing the clear grey eyes of my father who loves me, and connecting with people who know me better than I know myself—I have finally begun to think that this might be my real life. Perhaps the people here are right; perhaps I _did_ lose my mind when I lost the man I loved.

It’s not as if this is the first time I recall meandering through the black night of grief. Despair is a starless sky that Kathryn Janeway fell into many times over the years. After a while, she came to need it like she needed air to breathe.

Piece by piece, she allowed her soul to fade into that dark night.

A Starfleet brat and the oldest of two girls, she learned early how to bury the gnawing melancholy that comes with being separated from a loved one. Early in her own Starfleet career, she became the only survivor of a tragic shuttle accident in which she lost both her fiancée and her father. Years later, after stranding her crew seventy thousand light-years from home, night became a blanket that Kathryn pulled tighter around her own shoulders with each passing month. It kept her warm in a macabre sort of way.

It kept her safely alone.

To be honest, it is something of a relief to accept the narrative I have since been given. Here on Kataan, in a moderately-sized village tucked in the center of the Ressikan mountains, I am far less burdened as Kamin than I ever was as Kathryn. The politics plaguing the Central Cities—the very politics that cost Eline his freedom and overwhelmed my psyche—are hardly felt here. It isn’t perfect, but it is certainly more peaceful than the lonely life I had been condemned to when I was lost in hostile space.

At least, that’s what I tell myself. Sometimes, I almost believe it.

Yet that last memory of Kathryn’s is one I still cling to like a plank in the sea. It is grey as the features of  _Voyager’s_ bridge, two command chairs sitting side-by-side in her midst. It is red as my favorite shade of lipstick and the matching stripe of my Starfleet uniform. It is russet brown, deep and dark in my first officer’s eyes when he settles that disarming gaze upon me.

It is the steel and bronze hues of an oddly-shaped probe we paused to investigate just before my life as Kathryn Janeway came, abruptly, to an end.


	2. Act I: Wise Men

In the beginning, there was us.

I’m told that the only years I lived apart from Eline were the years that he spent becoming a physicist. We grew up together, he and I. We had been friends as children, went through rough patches in early adolescence, and were sweethearts by the time we finished our schooling.

In aptitude, we were different as day and night.

I had always been good with my hands. I went right from school into an apprenticeship with Ressik’s best steelweaver, and I worked until I became even better than him. I knew my days in the village were numbered, and I wanted to be competitive in the city.

Eline was a prodigy. On a scholarship to Tyrieg Capital University, he was sent away to study science. When he finished his education, he returned to Ressik to marry me.

Together, we moved to Tyrieg City.

Four years later, the Tyrgan prime leader died and a new leader rose to power. This leader condemned astrophysicists like Eline. He called them ‘ _doom-sayers_ ’ for claiming that our sun was dying. He shut down their research and barred them from public discourse. Although some of our colleagues accepted the new leader’s demands and turned to more acceptable fields of research, others refused to stay silent. They began illegal campaigns to educate as many people as they could about the imminent fate of our planet and the necessity of funding space programs before it was too late.

One by one, doom-sayers and their families began to disappear without explanation.

I was one of the lucky ones. A sympathizer smuggled me out of the re-education center and took me underground. Through a secret network of rebels, I was able to travel home to Ressik.

Daddy says it may be a good thing that I never recovered my memories of what happened ten years ago, or of my real life before. Even if I were discovered by Tyrgan authorities, they would probably dismiss me as harmlessly insane.

But Daddy doesn’t know that Kathryn Janeway was a scientist, too. Nor does Daddy know that I have taken up Eline’s research these past few years, using Kathryn Janeway’s knowledge to expand on it. He doesn’t know that there is a whole network of rebels across the nation, even here in our quiet little village.

Or that my dear friend, Batai, and I have become a part of it.

* * *

For all appearances, it is a normal day in Ressik. The sun is hot and dangerous, the soil is dry and unyielding, and the council members are fretting over recent water ration adjustments. Batai, the council leader, chooses her words and tone like a seasoned diplomat. She is so absorbed in their discussion that she does not even glance my way as I pass her by.

At the center of town stands a tree, planted ten years ago on the very day when I first woke up here. Batai dedicated it as a symbol of our resilience in spite of a years-long drought, and most of our village’s families donate from their own water rations to keep it alive.

Not only does the tree live, but it thrives.

As I offer my own precious gift of water to the tree, I hear Batai deftly maneuver the council away from argument. The discussion ends and all go their separate ways. Batai approaches me, drapes her arm around my shoulders, and guides me into a secluded area where we can talk.

A trim woman of average height with thick brown curls and eyes of burnished steel, Batai toes the line between small and fierce. She is quite probably the smartest person in our entire village, and she never slows down for anyone—not even her first pregnancy. If anything, being pregnant has made her want to work even harder. Perhaps the future of our people has become all the more important for her to preserve.

It is a slow uphill battle for us as we resist the complacency of a nation.

When she finally settles on a quiet spot away from the square, the urgent look in her eyes makes me worry. “What happened, old friend?” I ask.

Grabbing my shoulders, she whispers, “I have just received word. A physicist was smuggled out of a government prison. He has been moving quickly through the underground. They are bringing him home.”

“Here?” I ask. “To Ressik?”

Batai swallows hard. “Kamin,” she says, her tongue poised like a dagger ready to strike. “The prisoner is Eline. He is coming home… for you.”

The atmosphere grows thin around my head, and I am helpless to stop it. Batai’s words have torn a hole in me like a zeppelin, and air bursts forth from my lips. I feel unreal. I don’t belong here. This isn’t right; it cannot be happening.

I am dreaming.

“Kamin.” Batai’s voice filters through, reaching me in the haze. “Kamin, find your hands. Where are your hands? What do you feel with them?”

 _‘My hands_ ,’ I think. ‘ _Do I have hands_?’ The absurdity of that question strikes me like a hard slap to the face, and I shake my head. ‘ _Of course I have hands.’_

I flex my fingers, and they respond. Then, I realize— “You are holding them, Batai, as always.”

Dusky-pink lips tilt upward with relief. “As always, my friend.”

Even after all this time, I still become disoriented. I forget where I am and who I am. Am I Kamin? Kathryn? Is this a holoprogram? A dream? Through it all, Batai is here to ground me in what I know to be real. She is my anchor in a stormy sea.

“Eline,” I whisper.

Batai brings my hands to rest on her belly, further securing me with the strange feeling of an unborn child kicking against my palms. “Kamin, listen to me. His story mirrors your own. He remembers nothing of his life before prison. He does not remember you. He claims to be someone else, someone from outer space. He knows nothing of his research. The underground hopes that being here with you might help him to remember. They say our time is running out. We need his help if we are going to survive.”

I blink. “He says he came… from space?”

Batai nods. “On a starship that was trying to get home.”

My chest is tense and tight. Blood pounds against my skin, and I am flushed. “What does this mean?”

“I don’t know,” she says gently. “Perhaps you were right. Or, perhaps he lost himself in the brainwashing, too. Perhaps the gods have done this as a sign. I do not know. But he is coming soon for you.”

“When?”

Batai shakes her head. “Soon, my friend,” she reaffirms. “Very soon.”


	3. Act II: Good Men

Batai’s promise comes true two days later, but they won’t let me see Eline right away. As I wait for him to be brought to my house, I pace nervously and wring my hands to cover the way they won’t stop shaking.

“Gods almighty, Kamin,” Daddy scolds. “If you don’t quit that right now, you’ll burn a hole in my floor!”

Still, I pace on. I cannot possibly contain this nervous energy that I feel. If I stop pacing, I might explode. I am about to meet a man who—

The door opens, but before I can turn to face it, I hear him gasp.

“Kathryn?”

I freeze at the familiar sound of his voice and look up to find his wide, dark eyes. “Chakotay.”

Suddenly, he has rushed this way, thrown his arms around me, and secured me in his trembling embrace. “Kathryn,” he whispers again, and I can tell he doesn’t quite believe that I am real.

“It’s me, Chakotay. I’m here.” Tears overtake my vision, cleansing the trepidation I felt just moments ago and leaving me with a sense of overwhelming relief.

I am not alone.

* * *

In spite of the strange scene created by my reunion with Chakotay, who is known to everyone else in Ressik as Eline, Daddy takes our tearful reunion as a sign that we are ready to resume our former relationship as husband and wife. It makes Daddy so happy and so much more hopeful than I have seen him be in a while. For his sake, I gracefully accept the awkward situation of sharing my bedroom with a man who had been my first officer in another, and suddenly less distant, life.

Being the gentleman Chakotay is, of course, he volunteers to sleep on the floor.

“Nonsense,” I tell him. “You’ve been sleeping on floors for ten years. I will take the floor and you will take the bed.”

Chakotay begins to protest. “Kathryn—“

“I’ve made my decision,” I insist before teasingly adding, “Don’t make me make than an order.”

He grins, chuckles lightly, and shakes his head. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

My heart leaps at the sight of his dimples, but I hide the emotion and fold my arms. “Well, I should hope not.”

His laughing grin fades into a more serious look. Stepping to me, he rests both hands on my shoulders. “I can’t believe it’s really you. I thought I was the only one.”

I lower my gaze to the floor, hiding the sudden threat of tears. “I know. I did, too. I’m not quite sure how to handle it yet.”

“Kathryn.”

At the sound of my name dancing across his lips, I cannot help but to find his eyes.

The reason for his protest, I learn, is brutal and tragic. “I can’t sleep in a bed,” he admits. “It’s… it’s too soft. It sounds strange, but—“

I shake my head, cutting him off. “No, I understand. I should have realized, Chakotay. I’m sorry. Sleep wherever you need to.”

For a brief moment, I see mischief and perhaps a hint of longing cross his face, but he quickly tamps it down. “Aye, Captain.”

I smile. “Kamin,” I remind him gently. “I have been Kamin for ten years now, and I’ve gotten quite used to it.”

He hangs his head. “Right.”

“Or,” I add, “just Kathryn. But I’m not sure I’m ready to reclaim ‘ _Captain_ ’ just yet.”

“I can’t say that I agree,” he says, “but I do understand.”

Seemingly of its own accord, my hand reaches out to press against his chest. Feeling his heartbeat thump beneath my palm, I glance down to see what I have done. A glint of light reflects from the silvery surface of something beside my hand, attracting my gaze to the center of his chest.

There, resting against tan skin at the v-neck of his tunic, is a steel pendant hanging from a chain.

Taking the pendant in hand, I examine it closely. From a central, hexagonal disk protrude two fins, one jutting upward and the other downward. The fins sit opposite one another so that it almost looks like a bolt of lightning when viewed from the front. Both fins are embellished with nearly identical bronze plates.

Eyes wide, I seek out Chakotay’s face. “The probe.”

He wraps his fingers around mine, closes the pendant in both of our hands, and nods. “The people who brought me here, they gave it to me. It was found outside our home in Tyrieg City. Your friend, Batai, said that you made it and presented it to me on the day of our wedding.”

The word ‘ _wedding_ ’ hits me hard in the stomach, and my muscles tense. Chakotay, too, tenses up, so I compel myself to relax. Looking away from him, I take a deep breath and blow it slowly through rounded lips. “This is either ironic, insane, or both.”

“What makes you say that?”

I slip my hand from his and step away. “Of all people to be here playing this part, why you? Why us?”

Chakotay shakes his head. “I’m not sure I follow.”

I lift my eyes to his. “Ten years ago, I woke up to a strange man hovering over me. He kept calling me ‘ _Kamin_.’ I thought that I had been kidnapped from _Voyager_ , but the man looked at me like I had lost my mind. Eventually, I learned that no one knew anything about a probe in outer space, and that this species has barely begun to map out their own star system.”

Chakotay nods.

“I also learned that I have been subjected to some kind of mental reprogramming which took away all of my memories. The doctors told me that my mind found solace in a new fantastical identity. It took five years before I accepted this story, but nothing else made sense. I found ways to cope with it and to use these false memories for good. I built a life for myself here, and I tried to find some semblance of peace.”

“And then I showed up,” Chakotay adds cryptically.

I set my hands on my hips. “Who are you? Why did you come to Ressik?”

“Honestly? The underground thinks that being in the village where I grew up, reunited with my wife, will bring back my memories. They need physicists, and they say I was one. They say the planet is dying because the sun is dying. They need credible experts to turn the people, and we need to get off this planet if we are to survive.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t ask why the underground sent you here. I asked why you came.”

“I wasn’t exactly given a choice,” he snaps.

“Are you saying they forced you to escape prison?”

“They drugged me without my knowledge or consent. I didn’t know anything until I was already on the move.”

“So you don’t want to be here?”

Chakotay’s tone softens. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Crossing my arms, I lift an eyebrow at him and purse my lips as I wait for him to continue.

He sighs. “I guess I never really believed them when they told me I had been brainwashed. Prison was...“ He swallows a lump in his throat and stares hard at the floor. That’s when I notice his hands are balled into fists, tense and trembling.

“Chakotay?” I venture.

His eyes are like stained glass on a rainy day when he looks at me, but he allows no tears to fall. “I’m sorry, Kathryn. I can’t… I can’t talk about it. You can’t imagine what it was like.”

Yes, I can.

But that’s not what I say. Instead, I step into his space once again and frame his face with my hands. “No, Chakotay. I’m the one who should be sorry. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Not tonight.”

With that promise, he finally relaxes. Sliding his hands along my arms, he murmurs, “Just when I decided to let go of my forbidden love for Kathryn Janeway, I woke up to find out she was a dream. But now you’re here—“ The glimmer of mischief returns. “—and you’re my wife, apparently...”

I huff a laugh, shake my head, and slide my hands down to his chest.

Chakotay’s expression grows more serious. “Suddenly, I’m not so alone anymore.”

“I know just what you mean.”

He flattens his palms against my back. There is longing written across his gently-lined face, and he doesn’t bother to conceal it at all.

I carry near to seven years worth of memories with this man, years of unfulfilled desire that dragged us through cycles of devotion and antagonism. Yet, I sense another layer of relationship in between us. In spite of having Chakotay here, and in spite of the memories we, alone, share in common, I feel strangely close to the love of Kamin and Eline. It seems to amplify things I had buried when I was Kathryn, tangling my two identities together at a single point. Is this simply a way for my mind to reintegrate our love—a love that was ripped from me so many years ago? Or, is it possible that _Voyager_ was real and we don’t actually belong here?

After ten years, does it even matter anymore?

I wet my lips. “I don’t know what this means, Chakotay. I don’t know what’s real, or how any of it works. But, I can’t help feeling...  _wanting_...”

“I know. I feel it, too.”

“The problem is, I’m not sure if it’s Kathryn or Kamin that I’m feeling.”

His eyes bore into mine, those two thin rings of brown around wide, black irises. “Why can’t it be both? We are married, after all.”

“Kamin and Eline are married,” I correct.

“It’s all the same to me. Either way, I love you.”

I swallow hard. A decade removed from the weight of command has given me the space to speak and act more freely, but I still can’t help the old shame that awakens with the stumbling of my heart over this man. It took so much out of me to tamp down the want and guard the sanctity of our professional relationship. Survival had demanded it.

Now, it encourages just the opposite.

Ultimately, the man before me is right. Whether we call ourselves Kathryn and Chakotay or Kamin and Eline, we are stronger if we stick together.

Standing on tiptoe, I wrap my hands around the back of his head and pull his mouth to mine.

Chakotay tightens his arms around me, pulling my body against his as he sups from my bottom lip like a wine glass. A moan reverberates against his teeth, which are nipping at the brim of my mouth, and I don’t know if the sound came from him or from me. He sweeps his tongue inside and I taste mint tea.

The bed we argued over is neglected in favor of pillows and blankets on the floor. Quietly, we renew a marriage that neither of us remember yet both of us feel more deeply than anything ever before. It is a long-awaited reunion, and it is also our first time. There really is no other way to explain it.

Twice before, I have met this man. Twice before, I have loved him. I meet him again tonight and fall in love anew.

This time, for the first time, I finally feel like I am home.


	4. Act III: Wild Men

From the moment I came into this world, I have been surrounded by Daddy’s music.

In Ressik they simply call it a flute, although my memories from Earth liken it to a tin whistle. Either way, it is beautiful. Daddy taught himself to play when he was a young man—an endeavor he happily pursued in order to impress the woman who would become his wife and my mother. He taught me to play as a child, but that memory was lost when my world hit the floor and shattered into pieces.

As Kathryn Janeway, I loved music and art, but I did not play an instrument.

I confess that I was reluctant to pick up the flute at first. When I did, well, let’s just say that it wasn’t pleasant for anyone. In the past fifteen years since I woke up here, however, I have managed to become quite proficient.

Before Chakotay arrived, I only ever played around Daddy and Batai. Since our reunion, Chakotay has encouraged my self-confidence in the craft. When the time comes for Batai to plan a naming ceremony for her second child, I agree to join Daddy in performing the accompanying music.

The ceremony is a bittersweet affair. Two months before the birth of their son, Batai’s husband succumbed to an aggressive illness that the doctors couldn’t do anything to stop. It was the very condition that had killed my mother, and it would likely kill us all in time—not because it was contagious, but because it was caused by something beyond our control.

The slow death of a star.

This is the very culprit which Batai, Chakotay and I have long fought to expose as the government continues to resist the truth. We are dying right along with our planet; we have been for decades. Between worsening droughts, disastrous storms, and increasing radiation from the sun, the evidence is clear. Yet we are still called ‘ _doom-sayers_.’

At the ceremony, Daddy and I play a song that he composed especially for this day. Batai names her son Raylee in honor of her late husband, and she weeps openly through it all.

Her first child, a daughter named Meribor, refuses to join the party.

Meribor is too young to understand her own grief at the loss of her father. She has withdrawn inside of herself, and the only person who has been at all successful in reaching her is Chakotay.

I don’t know what it is. Perhaps it’s that she has spent so much of her life going out with Chakotay and her father on hikes and camping trips in the mountains. Perhaps it’s that Chakotay is emotionally sensitive in a way that Batai and I are not. Maybe it’s both. But when Chakotay knocks on young Meribor’s bedroom door and invites her to play outside, she acquiesces. They spend the better part of the day collecting rocks near Batai’s house.

I watch from the windows and feel a heavy sense of despair.

It is only natural for Chakotay to want children of his own. He is a caregiver through and through. He also values deeply those facets of existence that allow us to transcend time and space—tradition, culture, family, history, and legacy.

These are the memorials of love.

As it stands now, our best hope is in us and our children. If my projections are correct, the planet will become uninhabitable within the next one or two hundred years. There have been great advancements of technology that help to address short-term effects of our sun’s death, and they will certainly allow more people to survive longer against the odds.

But eventually even the best feats of technology will fail to hold against our sun’s death process. If we have not found a way off of the planet before then, none of the things we value will matter. Our families, cultures, traditions, and histories will all die. We will have no legacy and nothing to add to the collective knowledge of the galaxy.

Without that, what would be the point?

A hand on my shoulder startles me out of my reverie, and I turn to see Batai standing beside me. She offers a knowing smile. “Lost in another existential crisis, old friend?”

I scoff and nod my head. “I can’t help it. It’s my job to think of bigger things.”

“Scientific things,” she reminds me, “not philosophical.”

“Even if that’s where the science leads?”

“Kamin.” Her hands grip my shoulders and her sharp gaze locks onto mine. “Don’t become the doom-saying physicist they think you are. If you do, they’ll never listen.”

“They don’t listen anyway,” I point out.

“Their children may listen if we give them reason to.”

I sigh. “Speaking of children, where is your new son?”

Batai smiles. “With your father. He’s already teaching little Ray about monsters and ghosts.”

I roll my eyes. “Gods! Of course he is.”

My friend chuckles and shrugs. “At least he’s too young to understand any of it yet. He’s just happy being held and talked to.”

“Daddy knows how to make everyone feel loved.”

“How is he?”

“It’s still early. The doctor was able to remove what he found, but without sending Daddy to the city we can’t know how deep it goes.”

“I’m sure I could get people to help fund a trip to a proper hospital,” she offers.

I shake my head. “He won’t go.” Taking on his gruff tones, I say, “‘ _Die in three months, or die in three years. What’s the difference? Save hospital beds for the young_.’”

“He’s a stubborn pragmatist,” she observes, “just like his daughter.”

I cast my eyes towards the window, seeing Meribor hand Chakotay yet another rock to carry. “Perhaps,” I murmur. “Or perhaps he’s simply more willing than I am to accept an inescapable truth.”

Batai grabs my fingers. “Kamin, where are your hands?”

“I haven’t had an episode in years.”

“Kamin,” she repeats, enunciating herself more clearly, “where are your hands?”

I look again at her. “You are holding them... as always.”

“Don’t ever let despair at things beyond your control make you lose track of what is right here, right now. No matter what comes, my friend. Never let the coming night take away the joy of your final moments in the light.”

* * *

Chakotay and I are quiet as we go home that evening. Daddy makes a few minor attempts to engage us in conversation over dinner, but neither one of us feel much like talking anymore. When we finish eating, Chakotay offers to clean up, so I head outside with hopes of distracting myself in work.

But rather than tinkering with the telescope, I pick up my flute. I have surprised myself with how much I actually enjoy playing and how it helps me order my thoughts. When I find myself stuck on some piece of research, few things help quite like taking time away to work on my music. Other times, it’s like keeping a personal log without words.

Always, it is a light of Daddy’s love that glows in my soul.

“What’s on your mind tonight?”

I look up to find Chakotay leaning against the doorframe, watching me play. I smile and gesture for him to join me. “A few things. Mostly, I’ve been thinking about something Batai said to me while you were helping Meribor collect rocks.”

Chakotay settles himself beside me on the stoop, wrapping one arm around my waist. “Oh? What did she say?”

“‘ _Never let the coming night take away the joy of your final moments in the light_.’”

“Wise words. What prompted that statement?”

I turn to look at him. “I’ve been a bit melancholy lately. Today was especially difficult. I kept thinking about Raylee Sr., Batai raising their kids without him, the argument with Daddy yesterday...” I swallow hard. “Watching you with Meribor and knowing we’ll never have that for ourselves.”

Chakotay tightens his arm around me and presses a kiss to my forehead. “It’s been a rough year, hasn’t it?”

“Is all of this—everything we’re working so hard for, building families, trying to survive in spite of what we know—is it worth it?”

“Of course it is.”

“Even if we never get off of this planet? Every person gone, every history erased?”

Chakotay sighs. “I see now why Batai said what she said. You’re brooding.”

“I am not brooding!” I protest. When he shoots me a look, I sigh with resignation. “Okay, fine; I’m brooding.”

“She’s right, you know.”

“Why? If none of what we do here accomplishes anything, is it wasted?”

“Let me ask you this. How many flowers grow and bloom and die without ever being appreciated by a creature with eyes to see them? Have their lives been a waste?”

I roll my eyes. “That’s hardly comparable, Chakotay.”

“Why? Because they’re flowers and we’re people?”

“For starters.”

“Beauty isn’t the only thing a flower has to offer the world. They don’t exist for the pleasure of others, or to serve some greater good. Neither do we. A person or a society isn’t valuable because of what they produce or add to the universe for future people to use. The value of our lives isn’t wrapped up in the things we can do or the things we leave behind. Isn’t it enough that we simply lived?”

“But what about tradition and culture and community—all these things that give us meaning?”

“They aren’t what gives us meaning. We give them meaning, and it is in that creative act where we find joy for ourselves. They make us happy, help us feel connected, and inspire us to create even more beauty and love. But just because they die with us eventually, it doesn’t mean we never mattered. We matter because we exist, and we find significance for ourselves. In time, perhaps we will find a way to save something of our people that will be significant to other people on other worlds. But if not, that’s okay, too.”

I wipe away a tear with the back of my hand. “And if you never get to be a father? I know how much that matters to you.”

Chakotay cups my face in his hand. “Kathryn, you matter to me. Yes, I want children. Yes, I was disappointed when I found out that we couldn’t have them. But it isn’t everything. Loving you, and having you love me back, gives me more meaning than anything I’ve done in either of my lives. Even if we leave nothing at all behind, and no one remembers us when we’re gone, my life is full because I share it with you.”

* * *

Six months later, Daddy passes away in his sleep. Even though he knew his time was short, he was defiant against death to the end. He played with Batai’s children, told Meribor every ghost story he knew, taught Chakotay how to cook his favorite foods, ate as much dessert as he wanted, and shared with me every song he had ever composed.

And every day in our house, there was music.


	5. Act IV: Grave Men

After thirty years of suppressing the truth about our dying planet, the worst prime leader in a century is dead.

For a full week after news of his passing broke, Tyrieg officials have declared a national holiday for all citizens. No work, no classes, and no conducting unnecessary business. Local council leaders, like Batai, are being called to Tyrieg City for deliberations over who will be the next leader of our nation. Any Tyrgans visiting other nations are expected to return home, if possible, to mourn the loss of their esteemed leader and await the appointment of a new one.

After thirty years of conducting secret research with dusty equipment, and passing encrypted data along an underground network in order to have some semblance of a peer-review process, our message will have a chance at being heard by someone with real power.

As one of the brightest young scientific minds in the country, Meribor is attending a foreign university that boasts some of the best science programs in the world. Living under a more open government than our own, she has been given opportunities to explore scientific ideas that are criminalized in Tyrieg.

With Batai away, and Raylee Jr. accompanying Batai as a student observer of the proceedings, Chakotay and I meet Meribor’s train. Rather than going home to an empty house, she opts to stay with us. Chakotay is beside himself with joy at her return, for she has remained the closest thing to a daughter that Chakotay and I will ever have.

She has grown into a beautiful young woman. Long, sleek honey-blonde hair hangs straight down her back. Her eyes are blue-green aerinite gemstones flecked with gold. She is tall and lean like her father was. She is also brilliant like her mother, thoughtful like Chakotay, and a careful scientist like me.

Chakotay insisted upon Meribor and I relaxing while he cleaned up from dinner, so we sit on the back porch together and watch the stars. I suspect that Meribor might not be allowed to discuss the controversial parts of her curriculum, but I have to try. I can only dream of the technology and data she has access to at school. What has she learned about our planet, and our sun?

“I’m not supposed to talk about it,” she tells me when I ask.

Perhaps I will never know. Perhaps it is not my place. Or, perhaps the new prime leader will reopen our field in Tyrieg so that we can join with the rest of the world in finding a way to save our people’s future.

So, I nod my head in acceptance of her answer. “I understand, Meri. I don’t want you doing anything that might get you into trouble.”

Casting her eyes around our private back yard, she leans in closer and gives me a mischievous smirk. “I never said that I _wouldn’t_ tell you anything.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Such a rebel.”

Meribor shrugs. “I learned from the best.”

Taking her hands in mine, I give her fingers a squeeze. “And you will surpass us all.”

Her expression grows serious, and she gives me a look I have seen on her mother’s face only a handful of times. She is about to strike a mortal blow against my view of the world, and she knows it.

I take a breath and brace myself.

“I’ve been working as a research assistant on a collaborative project between several of the science departments. I sort through data, crunch numbers... that sort of thing. Nothing has been published yet, but everything I’ve had access to points towards the same conclusion. At the rate our sun is expanding, Kataan may not be able to support life past the end of this century.”

I sigh heavily and hang my head.

“But this isn’t news to you, is it, Aunt Kamin? You’ve reached the same conclusion, too. I know you have.”

“I have,” I confirm, lifting my eyes to hers again. “I didn’t know how short our time truly was, but I knew it was coming.”

Pausing to appreciate her lovely face, I can’t help but think that she deserves so much better than this. “Perhaps I should have filled your head with trivial concerns,” I muse aloud. “Games and toys and clothes.”

She frowns. “I don't think you mean that. You've taught me to pursue the truth no matter how painful it is. It's too late to back off now. Our planet is dying.”

I offer her a mournful smile. “You’re right, of course. It just saddens me to see you burdened with the knowledge of things you can't change. We all could have done better to prioritize your happiness over our own goals.”

Meribor studies me for a long moment. “I’ve been thinking about asking Dannick to marry me.”

I’m a bit startled by the sudden change of subject. “I didn’t know you were that serious.”

“I wasn’t,” Meribor admits, “until I talked to Uncle Eline.”

“I see. And what did my husband tell you that made you change your mind?”

She smiles as she recalls the memory. “He said, ‘ _Seize the time, Meribor. Live now. Make now always the most precious time. Now will never come again_.’”

With a heavy sigh, I place a hand on Meribor’s shoulder. “I’m afraid that I have to agree with him. If this century is all the universe will give us, then we must fill every single moment with as much life as we possibly can.”

* * *

“So,” I say to Chakotay as I slide into bed next to him, “I hear you’ve been talking to Meri about her love life.”

He wraps his arms around me, folding me into his body, and kisses my forehead. “Guilty as charged. What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic.”

I chuckle and press my lips to his bare chest. “That you are.”

“And what did you have to say to her about it?”

“I agreed with you.”

Chakotay pulls away slightly, casting a look of surprise my way. “Is that so? I might have to make a record of this. ‘On this day, after twenty years of marriage, Kathryn Janeway agreed with me for the first time.’”

I roll my eyes in spite of my laughter, and playfully jab my fingers between his ribs. “That is not true! I agree with you on things... from time to time.”

He chuckles, smiling warmly. “I know you do, Kathryn, more than you say.”

In the silence that lingers after his reply, I feel a sense of sadness creep in. “It may have to be a short engagement.”

Chakotay tightens his arms around me. “We don’t know that. It’s still early. Maybe the doctors in Tyrieg City can do something for Batai.”

“It doesn’t seem right,” I lament. “They have already lost their father, and so young. To lose Batai now, just when Ray is starting to look at university—“

“I know,” he murmurs.

For a long while, neither of us says a word. Chakotay holds me close, and I listen to his steady heartbeat. He rubs circles on my back with his thumbs, and I trail fingertips down the length of his spine. He presses soft lips to my brow, and I kiss, again, the smooth skin stretched over his heart.

The thought of death makes me want nothing more than to lash this man, body and soul, to my life and to this place. I want to draw every breath together, and never take another gulp of air alone again. I cannot bear the thought that, someday, I will have to face having him ripped away from me by the same diagnosis that took my father, and which is now poised to take my best friend.

It is the destiny of us all to die. Hygiene and healthcare may help us forestall this end, but we are tethered to it just the same. The fate of the planet is the fate of us all. Sand is slipping quickly to the bottom of the hourglass, and will soon run out. Every day, every moment, we are looking death in the eye.

Yet, we live anyway.

This is the ultimate act of rebellion in a war that has already been lost, and I embrace it with arms wide open. I cannot bind my husband’s life and death to mine, but still I embrace him. Nothing can stop the grasping reach of death.

But still, I embrace life.

He whispers my name— “ _Kathryn”_  —as I shroud him in the frail garments of my love. I cover him with kisses, clutch his skin beneath my own, and reach for a deeper connection to his soul. I tell him that I love him, even as I show him, in hopes that the stars themselves will someday vibrate with the energy of it.

And just like we defy the night by making love before we succumb to the inevitable slumber, we also defy the coming death by every act of love we share with the people in our lives.

If I leave behind any sort of legacy when I am gone, may it be that.


	6. Act V: Rage Against

Not quite a year ago, the doctors gave Chakotay six months to live. Today, he is crawling on the floor playing with our young grandson. He is not cured of his disease. Every morning, I wake up expecting his stamina to have left him. It could happen at any time.

Yet, he lives.

He lives wisely, knowing his time is short. He lives selflessly, looking after the interests of others before his own. He lives passionately, embodying each moment without fear of the next one. He lives joyfully, focusing on the simple pleasures and goodness all around him.

Perhaps I have underestimated the power of positivity to enrich and sustain life.

The child, Kamie, screams with thrill and glee when Chakotay ends the playful chase by wrapping him up in a bear hug.

“Gotcha!” Chakotay proceeds to tickle Kamie, eliciting even more squeals. “Now I gotcha.”

Just then, Meribor steps in the front door. “Some children are certainly making a lot of noise in here,” she scolds in jest, planting both hands on her hips and glaring at my husband and her son.

“You shouldn't be outside so long, Meri,” I remind her. “It's damaging. You know that.”

“I'm wearing plenty of your skin protector,” she counters.

“How about you, young man?” Chakotay asks Kamie. “Do you wear your skin protector outdoors?”

Kamie smiles and nods.

“You do?” Chakotay smiles back, giving his grandson one last squeeze before releasing him completely. “Good boy.”

A moment later, the front door opens again to admit Raylee Jr. “Happy day, everybody! It's time to go see the launching.”

I throw a look of confusion at Chakotay, who simply shrugs his shoulders and stands. Clearly, I will get no help from him; instead, I turn to Ray. “What launching?”

He smiles, offering me a hand up from the chair, and refuses to answer. “Just come and see.”

After making our way to the village square, we find a good place to situate ourselves. It seems we are just about the last people to arrive. More than half of Ressik has turned up for this event.

And I still don’t know what the hell is going on.

“What is it that we’re watching, Ray?” Chakotay asks the younger man next to him.

“They're sending up a missile, Uncle,” Raylee explains.

“Actually,” Meribor cuts in as she takes the seat beside me, “ _we_  sent it.”

“Into space?” I ask, lifting both eyebrows at her.

“That’s right,” she confirms.

I gape at her. “Why didn’t your uncle and I know about this?”

Meribor takes my hand in hers. “But you _do_ know about it. You both do. You’ve seen it yourselves.”

“I may be old,” I protest, “but my memory still works just fine. I don’t recall seeing any missiles.”

“Wait a minute,” Chakotay says as he reaches for the pendant on his necklace. “Is this what you’re sending up? The probe we encountered on _Voyager_?”

“That’s right, son.”

My heart nearly stops at the sound of a familiar voice. Unable to believe my own ears, I look ahead and find myself staring into clear grey eyes.

“Daddy,” I whisper. He stands as tall and strong as I remember. Beside him, young and healthy once more, is that dear friend of mine who left the world far too soon. “Batai.”

Both of the apparitions smile lovingly at me and nod their heads in encouragement.

“So all of this,” I venture, “the lives we’ve led these forty years, it hasn’t been real?”

“It was real for us, old friend,” Batai says. “And now, it is real for you.” As always, her words calm the building storm in me.

Meribor’s hands tighten around mine. “We hoped our probe would encounter someone in the future, someone who could be a teacher and tell others about us.”

“That’s us, isn't it?” Chakotay asks. “We are that someone, the ones it finds. That's what this launching is. It’s a probe that finds us in the future.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Ray confirms.

“The rest of us have been gone for a thousand years,” Daddy explains. “But if you remember what we were and how we lived, then we'll have found life again.”

I hear the loud sound of combustion and look up to see a missile streak across the sky. It flies fast, climbing higher and higher into Kataan’s atmosphere until it disappears entirely from view.

“Tell them of us,” Meribor pleads with me. I look into her blue-green eyes, which are filled with tears. “Please.”

I nod, feeling my own eyes grow wet. “I will, Meri. I promise.”

* * *

As suddenly as that life on Kataan began, it ends. My eyes snap open, and I see grey—not like Daddy’s eyes, but like the bulkheads of a starship from a memory I had never quite let go of.

“ _Voyager_ ,” I whisper. When I move to sit up, I feel strong hands come to support me.

“Please, Captain,” says the Doctor, “don’t get up too quickly.”

“How long?” Chakotay asks of Tom, who is tending to him.

“Approximately twenty-five minutes,” Tuvok answers as he kneels in between us. He looks at me with a steady gaze. “How are you feeling?”

It takes me a moment to answer, for I am briefly transfixed by the sight of his face. “I might have to get back to you on that, Commander. It was… quite an experience.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I look forward to reading your report on the matter.”

“Before anyone runs off to write any reports,” the Doctor interjects, “I want you both in sickbay so I can run a full diagnostic.”

“Wait,” Chakotay protests. “The probe. We need to analyze it.”

“The probe has already been tractored into our shuttlebay,” comes Seven’s cool voice. I look towards a small console positioned just behind the two command chairs and meet her striking blue-green gaze. “Ensign Kim and I will begin our analysis shortly.”

I smile. “Very good, Seven. Thank you.”

“Captain,” the Doctor reminds me.

“Yes, Doctor,” I acknowledge with a nod. “Of course.”

* * *

After the Doctor releases me from his care, I return to my quarters alone. A strange and unsettling mix of feelings follows me along the way. Through each grey-paneled corridor, in the turbolift car, and to the place I have called home for almost seven years, I carry a strange sense of déjà vu as if I was revisiting a past life. Everything is just as I left it, yet everything has somehow changed.

Or is it simply that I have changed?

Stepping into the head, I am startled by my own reflection as I pass by the mirror above my sink. Not long ago, I was an old woman with wrinkled skin and white hair. I am much younger now—smooth skin, dark hair, and wearing a uniform that I have not seen in forty years. A blood-red stripe clutches at my shoulders, carrying weight that I had forgotten how to bear.

It feels wrong, so I take it off.

The jacket falls to the floor with a sigh, but I do not stop there. Next comes the short-sleeved shirt with its high collar, bearing four pips that clatter when they hit the deck. I pick up my feet, one at a time, and slip off these ridiculously thick-heeled boots; this brings me back down to a more familiar stature. Releasing the clasp at the top of my pants, I slide them over my hips, let them fall in a heap around my ankles, and step out of them.

Again, I examine my reflection in the mirror. I feel lighter now, but still strangely displaced. ‘ _The feelings will fade in time_ ,’ I tell myself.

Pulling on a silky pink robe that I had left hanging by the sonic shower, I look one last time into the mirror and smile at the sight of a less severe color. Then, I take to wondering slowly through my quarters like a museum of lost history, hoping to find myself somewhere within the exhibits.

I must be quite a sight for Chakotay when he visits my quarters. The moment I see him, I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Russet brown eyes slide quickly down and back up again, taking in the view before settling on my face. He smiles with amusement at my reaction, and my chest flutters at the sight of his dimples.

“Hello,” he opens simply. “Feeling any better?”

“Yes.” The reply comes out shaky, and I know it simply will not do. I clear my throat and try again. “Yes, I am, Commander, thank you.”

His countenance falls. “So, it’s back to ‘ _Commander_ ,’ then?”

The air rushes from my lungs like a balloon. My chest muscles clench, followed by my throat, and I almost let slip the desperate cry that climbs up to perch on the tip of my tongue. Shaking my head, I force myself to take a slow breath before I answer his question. “No, Chakotay. I won’t do that to us this time. I’m not sure if I even could.”

His face instantly brightens, and he closes the distance between us.

“It’s strange,” I explain. “I find I'm having to rediscover that this is really my home and that I am really me.”

With one hand, he reaches up to stroke my cheek. “I know what you mean. I’m not exactly sure how to process it, or how to come back to _Voyager_ again. If it wasn’t for the fact that you experienced it with me, I’m not sure I could.”

I cover his hand with mine. “You could. I have no doubt about that.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. All the same, I’m still glad to have shared it with you.”

“Me, too,” I tell him with a complete honesty that I could never have given him before.

“Speaking of,” he says, “I bumped into Harry in the corridor. He and Seven were able to open the probe and examine it. Apparently, whatever had locked onto us must have been self-terminating; it’s not functioning any longer.” Catching my fingers between his thumb and the side of his palm, he brings my hand down to rest on a box held in his other hand. “They found this inside.”

Taking a half-step back, I look down at a hand-carved flutebox that had sat, for forty years, above the fireplace of our home in Ressik. Inside the box, nestled in a cream-colored velvet pillow, is Daddy’s flute.

I don’t even try to stop the flow of tears rolling down my face. Chakotay holds the box open for me while I lift the small instrument out of its trappings, clutch it to my chest, then lift it to my lips and breathe life into it once more. The melody is far from perfect, twisting and breaking in places due to the trembling of my fingers or to sniffles and sobs, but I don’t care.

This is Daddy’s music.

When the song is done and I lay the flute back down to rest, Chakotay closes the box. I watch him set it on the table where he and I have shared so many private dinners together. They were special times for us, full of laughter and friendship and unspoken attraction.

Yet, that heavy red stripe across our shoulders stayed firmly in place to remind us both of the cost should we step out of line—a breakdown of command structure, the opening up of my decisions to question, and my soul torn to shreds at the loss of a man I love. I wanted to believe that I could keep the duty separate from the personal, but the stakes became far too great once we were stranded in the Delta Quadrant. What if I was wrong? I had to be more than human for the sake of my crew.

I became a stone instead.

But living an entire life on Kataan taught me about more than just the lost culture of Ressik; I also learned things about myself that I could never have otherwise known. I learned about the importance of hope, love, and happiness, and I learned that relationships are a source of strength rather than weakness.

Perhaps I was right before to deny myself romance. It could have, indeed, become problematic for the entire crew. But, that was in a different life. Kamin showed me a different way to live, and I will not let her go gently into the night.

So when Chakotay kisses me for what is technically the first time, I wrap my arms around his waist and kiss him back with the fervor of Kataan’s dying sun. I know now that life is not ultimately about survival, nor is it about leaving a larger legacy behind.

Above all, life is simply about living.


End file.
